


Second Time Coming

by crazyground



Category: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyground/pseuds/crazyground
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the world has ended; changmin goes home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Time Coming

**Author's Note:**

> the lovely fibres and zee for beta-ing, thank you!

Changmin has travelled three hundred and sixty two miles since the world ended. There isn't any other way of counting how far the world's moved on despite her end, and Changmin doesn't want to know how much time has passed, or how many people he has since let slip through his fingers. What he can't escape from is the scenery that, despite an all-encompassing destruction, remains distinct, nor can he ignore the street signs at his feet. Right now the street sign – blue and fallen and trampled – tells him that he is near his home town. 

The world ended.

Changmin has travelled three hundred and sixty two miles since the world ended, but of course this takes him right back where he started. The heavens, he decides right then and there, must be fucking with him. Changmin scowls, burying his nose into his scarf and fidgeting from one aching foot to another.

At his silence, the shock melts off Yunho's face and leaves in its stead a mirthless resignation. Changmin recognises the defeated wither of his shoulders - he's caused it once before, and suddenly he is caught between hoping inexplicably that other people have this effect on Yunho, not just him, and a yawning sense of guilt.

"Well, come on then," Yunho says abruptly. He turns on his heels and heads off in some unfathomable direction, not waiting for a response. Changmin chases after him on autopilot, as he had when he was just a little brat; it feels just like old times.

"Where are we going?" Changmin asks when Yunho doesn't break this awkward silence that drags out between them a second time. He has no energy to scowl at the man. His face hurts from the cold, almost as much as his feet, almost as much as his heart. "Oi, Jung Yunho, slow the fuck down."

Yunho stops and turns to him, giving him a once over. When he shakes his head and mutters to himself, Changmin smoothes his palms down the front of his tattered coat, rakes a hand through dishevelled hair, self conscious. He snaps, " _What_? I _walked_ here, okay, it was so fucking far."

"That's not what I'm talking about," Yunho says. His voice, now that Changmin can properly listen, is rougher and drier that it had been. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?"

Changmin rolls his shoulder in a shrug as Yunho falls in step beside him. "I came back all the way back, maybe that's why."

It feels like and sounds like the wrong thing to say, the weight of their past bearing down on Changmin's shoulders, but that wasn't what he meant and Yunho has always known him better than that. The older man cracks a grin instead. It looks painful. "I guess."

They stop at a mini mart, its windows smashed and snow blown in all over the place. Yunho steps over the broken glass and Changmin grimaces, but follows after him. The shards are sharp beneath the thin soles of his boots.

Changmin raises an eyebrow when he discovers that the shelves are only half empty and the remaining goods are all neatly packed. The stores and shops he'd come across had all been stripped bare, and occasionally there had been blood like a scene out of those war manhwa he used to read, left there by the starving and desperate. This one here, despite the broken windows, is exactly as a convenience store should be. Yunho goes about like a regular customer, picking packets of ramen and bottles of soju, and dumping them into a plastic basket.

"Cheers," he says, tossing a bottle back at Changmin. Hands gloved, and so he nearly drops it. With a snort, Changmin fumbles with a bottle opener behind the fridge door and snaps off the lid. The alcohol’s ice cold and sweet, and Changmin takes a big gulp and savours the warmth radiating down his throat and into his core. Yunho turns at his sigh of satisfaction, and smiles.

"Good, right?" As he talks, he makes his way back out of the store, tapping the basket against the ledge of the window he passes through it. "Broke the windows on purpose because the electricity went out weeks ago. It's kept all the food edible and the booze cold."

"Ingenious," Changmin allows, because he's missed the dizzying embrace of alcohol, because he doesn't know where they stand with each other yet. "Got any other tricks?"

Yunho shrugs. "Want to drink at the playground?"

"Yeah, sure, not like I have anywhere to be," Changmin replies despite the three hundred and sixty two miles behind him. 

"All the time in the fucking world," Yunho agrees.

* * *

Changmin begins drinking on a swing, then draped across the slide, and finally, curled up in the plastic tunnel about five feet off the ground. Yunho is curled in next to him, leaning against the opposite surface. It's ridiculous, two men of their heights squeezed into this child sized plaything but they make it work; Changmin's knees are pressed to his chest and Yunho's neck is curved in such a way that Changmin knows it's going to hurt in the morning. Changmin rolls his eyes at the idiot as he reaches out and tugs on Yunho's ankle until he slides down into a more comfortable position.

There are beer cans everywhere, in their hands and their laps and scattered by their sides. Yunho’s tolerance is shit as always so he's only downed one – the rest he funnels to Changmin until he's red in the face and humming nonsense under his breath. 

Yunho's tolerance may be like shit but Changmin has always had the liver of a god.

"Is there reason, beer, you – " maybe the liver of a demigod. Changmin swallows, mouth like cotton, and tries again. "Is there a reason you're trying to get me smashed?"

Yunho slants his eyebrows as though he is sheepish he got caught. "Why'd you come back, Changmin-ah?"

"Don't, topic change, fuck." The back of his head thunks against the plastic. This is one of the things Changmin hates about Yunho; Changmin's not a kid and he's mostly smarter than him, so Yunho shouldn't try to trick him. And even if he was and wasn't, Yunho shouldn't try to trick him anyway. That’s the principle of things. Changmin squints. "Why won't you answer the question?"

"If you answer my question, it'll answer the question you have of my question, so I don't have to answer your question.”

"Okay, ow fuck," Changmin says after a moment, "let's not do this right now."

With a mirthless chuckle, Yunho raises his beer can. "My point exactly."

The beer isn't the only thing that's making Changmin's cheeks red. The wind is icy cold right now, and is blowing in from the tiny porthole next to Changmin's face. He is silent except for the rustling of cloth as he tries to bury into his scarf and jacket. Neither is inclined towards moving, despite the weather. At this rate, he'll be frozen to the playground. It doesn't seem that bad an idea; he's played here when he was young, and it had seemed huge then, and warm because he was always running around, never mind the weather. Yunho played there often too – Changmin remembers bright yellow rain boots and that the first time they’d met, Yunho had pushed him down in the sandbox. Asshole. He'd cried too, he cried a lot back then, so his mother had – 

"I'm going to visit home later," Changmin says suddenly. "It's probably why I came back."

"Oh." It's all Yunho says; Changmin's eyebrows are furrowed in a way that tells Yunho he's about to figure it out anyway.

"And I know it took a while, like, fuck long –" Changmin flings his arms out and upsets his beer over Yunho's thigh. Yunho grunts, snatching the beer can away and smacking his hand. Changmin doesn't notice. " – really far, I was really far away, you know?"

"I know, I remember you leaving." Yunho seems to flinch, lips pressed thin.

Too drunk, no, too tipsy, so Changmin forgets to file that away. He barges on, on the verge of breakthrough. "And I had to walk, so fucking far, no people so no people to run the shitty trains, right? But like, I had to so I sucked it up because I promised, I'd see her –"

Changmin stiffens abruptly; Yunho closes his eyes.

"My mum, fuck, because I promised I'd meet her after term ended and then it did but the world ended too, but I promised, my mum, my family, fuck. Fuck."

Without a word, Yunho shifts so that he can clear the empty cans away as best he can without getting up. Changmin rambles on, about promises and family and being a man, about his sister and if you're here and too fucking late, his words cracking more and more until he's out of them too. By the time Yunho grabs a fistful of his collar and yanks him down, Changmin has his face in his hands.

Changmin's still the only one who's making noise, but it's not so quiet anymore.

* * *

The next time Changmin opens his eyes is to the long column of Yunho's neck. The man's got his chin on his palms and his elbows on his knees, curled around Changmin's head, and Changmin's got his head on Yunho's stomach and his legs sprawled out the tunnel. Changmin frowns – and then he winces. The skin around his eyes and his cheeks that was wet now stings like fuck despite Yunho's efforts to keep his head warm. He spits a curse, and Yunho jolts, before he looks down at him.

"When did they – ?" Changmin pauses at the ache. He lifts his head enough to thunk it back down hard, just to see if he can dislodge that throb at the back of his skull. It doesn't work. All he gets is Yunho's oof of pain. "Wait, fuck, do I want to know?"

When Yunho shrugs, Changmin can feel it. "Don't know, figured you'd need some time to think first."

For a second, Changmin is all flailing limbs and groaning muscles as he hoists himself back into sitting position. 

"Do I want to go home?"

Yunho shrugs again, and it causes irritation to spark but Changmin's pretty sure it's because of his own helplessness. "I don't know, up to you." He pauses, twisting the thick material of Changmin's sleeve. "Maybe. Probably? My back is in so much pain right now."

Changmin snorts as he rubs at his eyes. They're red and they hurt and he can't really think. Yunho stretches, the movement causing his back to crack and Changmin's cheek to bump into his thigh. Changmin scowls. "Sure, whatever, let's go."

"Your place?" Yunho slides out of the tunnel awkwardly, limbs too long. His eyebrows knot together. "Or mine?"

Changmin stares down from the highest playground platform, a look of contemplation on his face, except he isn't considering the question as much as he is wondering if he's slim enough to go down the slide. 

He isn't. As slender as he is, Changmin is still a (mostly) grown man, and his hips knock against the slide. His ass doesn't even touch the surface of the slide, and it's less of a swoosh than an uncomfortable stutter down. Yunho lets out a bark of laughter that is more bark than laughter and hops down instead. Then he tilts his head at Changmin, frowning when the man only blinks back.

"Well, come on then," he says, and this time he takes Changmin's fingers and leads the way.

Changmin stares down at their hands. "Are you. You're not like. Coming onto me or anything right. Because this really isn't the right time."

The look Yunho gives him clearly says you are obviously suffering from shock and grief right now so I will ignore that. He lets go of Changmin's fingers momentarily to grip higher, circling his wrist in a firm grasp.

The journey back is uneventful but slow, because Changmin is a nauseating mix of guilt and anguish and hung over. On the bright side – and bright sides are so damn important when the world has ended and there is nothing to fucking live for – it keeps his head down and his eyes squeezed shut so he doesn't notice how his nostalgic, welcoming hometown has dilapidated. He's solely reliant on Yunho now, to guide him home and make sure he doesn't walk into anything. Yunho, to his credit, takes to the role of leader very well, slowing down to Changmin's pace and making sure he stays upright. It's dark, the street lamps are all busted, and Yunho trips several times, but Changmin is guided safely the entire way. 

When Changmin manages to get his eyes open, he still keeps his head ducked. So he finds himself staring at their hands again. Yunho's thumb and forefinger encircles his wrist easily, and with a lot to spare. Partially it's because Changmin's stomach hasn't handled the world ending and food sources depleting very well, and also because it appears that Yunho has grown up even more since Changmin's been away. 

It's an odd sentiment from a dongsaeng, but there it is. Changmin doesn't feel like he's grown up at all because he's always been the type to think himself into circles even before he found out it was an adult thing to do. Yunho, on the other hand, has filled out so much more than him. It's got nothing and everything to do with the way his shoulders have broadened out, and the way he is steadier and more pliant than before. Paradox, Changmin thinks, and can't associate the Yunho he'd left and the Yunho he's found.

It's a thought that accompanies him all the way back home.

* * *

Aside from the small shifts in furniture and the layer of dust that covers every exposed surface, Changmin's house hasn't really changed. Beyond the front door with its broken hinges (Yunho shrugs, an insincere apology, _I had to check_ ) everything is as he left it after last year's holidays. Changmin has to force himself not to go through the autopilot motions of heading into the kitchen where his mum would be, guarding the fridge – he doesn't stop by the living room to greet his father, and up the stairs on the way to his room, Changmin doesn't stick his head into his sisters' room so he isn't screamed at to get out.

After a moment, Yunho follows him up, glass of water in hand, and finds Changmin sitting on his bed with his eyes dull. If this were a year ago, Yunho would have hesitantly sat next to him; if this were two years ago, he would have placed the glass of water on the bedside table then left; if this were three years ago he would have dropped to his knees to gather the boy in his arms, lips pressed tenderly to his temple and – but this isn't any of those times so Yunho is left standing awkwardly in front of Changmin, occasionally making eye contact.

"Are you just going to sit there?" Yunho asks finally, pushing the glass of water into his hand, and then taking that hand and lifting it so that the brim of the glass nudges Changmin's lower lip.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Changmin replies after he's taken a sip and Yunho has let go of him. 

"That depends, you alright on your own?"

Changmin doesn't reply because he’s grown up enough to at least understand that this isn't the time to lie about such matters. While Changmin considers, Yunho huffs and drags him to his feet so that he can properly take off the heavy outer layers of clothes that both of them are wearing. He dumps the heavy coats and sweaters into a corner, then takes from Changmin's closet two loose pairs of sweatpants, one of which he tosses at Changmin. The other one he pulls on when Changmin makes no sound of protest. 

"I'll be downstairs if you need anything," Yunho tells him. He waits, and then he sighs when Changmin nods at him but does nothing else. 

"Hey," he says, putting one arm around Changmin's shoulders. Changmin jolts, but Yunho ignores him, mind made up to ignore whatever lingering tension is between them; Yunho is Yunho-hyung, and he is going to act like it. In one fluid motion, he gathers Changmin up and fits him very neatly against his chest. He feels Changmin frowning against the skin of his neck, and can't help but smile. 

"I'll be alright on my own," Changmin mumbles after a pause. He doesn't move. "You can go back to whatever you were doing if you want."

"Nah, I wasn't doing anything important." Yunho shakes his head then carefully steps back. Changmin stares at his shoulder, mouth a sad, thin line. "I'll be downstairs, okay?"

"Okay." He pauses, hand twisting the material of Yunho's sleeve. "Thanks, hyung."

* * *

   
There are three bedrooms plus a guest room in the house, but when Changmin shuffles out of his, he finds Yunho passed out on the sofa. It must be some sort of odd respect to the dead, Changmin thinks as he squats in front of the man, and he doesn't quite know how he'd have reacted to Yunho slobbering up his family's pillows. But what's wrong with the guest room?

Changmin remembers laughing at Yunho’s ugly sleeping face when he was younger, and it hasn't really improved. His eyes are half lidded, and his mouth is wide open, drooling onto the couch cushion. Such a charming sight – Changmin snorts to himself before closing Yunho's eyes with a sweep of his palm and tapping his mouth shut.

Now what?

Changmin shivers. The floor under his bare feet is freezing, and he can see a thick layer of frost on each window. Electricity is still available here, and the portable heater in his room had been working just fine so what was wrong with the heaters in the rest of the house? Maybe Yunho's conserving power or something, but for what, he can't be bothered to guess. He shrugs off the thick blanket he'd taken from his room and dumps it haphazardly onto Yunho's prone form, then stalks out of the living room. Maybe the stove still works. Did it run on electricity or gas? 

Breakfast ends up to be the ramen Yunho liberated from the store, cooked in melted snow from outside because the pipes are frozen. He'd found a kerosene burner in place of his microwave, but it'd been weak and running out of fuel so his ramen is crunchy in places, not properly done.

Well, it prevents Changmin's stomach from eating itself, so it does the work. Almost. One more packet?

Hip against the counter, Changmin waits for the water to boil and for company to seem normal again. The fact that another human being is within his vicinity, breathing and alive and familiar – it’s surreal. Changmin doesn't know what to make of it. There are voices in his head that sound nothing like Yunho's, but he is the only person they could have come from. Yunho would never accuse him of not protecting his family, of not – against all odds – being able to save them, of only being able to save his self. Changmin already knows that the world's end brings out the worst in people. Yunho is not a stranger with faceless accusations that Changmin cannot fend off. Yunho is not a stranger so Changmin knows that if he was too weak to stop his loved ones from vanishing, then Yunho is as big as a fuck up as he is.

"Did you just eat all our food supplies?" 

Changmin looks and sees Yunho standing in the doorway, one hand clutching the blanket, the other rubbing the sleep from his eyes. No sudden movements, Changmin shuffles until he is sitting between Yunho and the kitchen counter, blocking all the empty ramen packets from view.

"No?" 

The corner of Yunho's mouth quirks, unimpressed. 

"...I left some for you, of course," Changmin says, bleeding earnest all over the kitchen. 

And is only vaguely disappointed when Yunho takes the offered bowl because the number of empty ramen packets behind him total at five, and his stomach is pleasantly straddling the line between full and ready to explode. 

Yunho still eats like someone is going to swoop in and snatch away his food – it’s kind of nice to know some parts of him have stayed the same. Then Changmin realizes wait, _he_ had been the one to steal Yunho's food all the time when they were young, so maybe he'd been the one to cause this type of defensive mechanism to kick in. Well fuck, isn't that hilarious. He snorts. Yunho looks up at the sound. 

"What?" he demands. A bit of soup trickles down his chin, and Changmin crinkles his nose in disgust. 

"You must be five years old," he says. He sweeps a thumb over Yunho's chin, catching the soup and swiping it away. A pause, both intensely aware where they've made contac t, then Yunho grunts out a thanks and polishes off the rest of the ramen. 

"So what are you going to do now?" Putting the bowl down, Yunho leans the jut of his hip against the kitchen counter. 

"Don't know, didn't think that far." Actually, he did, but they involved people that no longer exist. Yunho probably doesn't need to know that. "Guess I'm going back to bed."

"What, really?" Yunho follows him out of the kitchen so closely that when Changmin turns around suddenly, their heads nearly knock together. Yunho winces, but Changmin ignores it altogether. 

"Do you have anything else I could do?" Changmin's eyes are rounded questioningly. They are also burrowing holes into Yunho's soul. And Yunho falters, because he's never had to answer so loaded a question before. 

"Want to go drink at the playground?"

At once he wants to take it back because Changmin droops. His shoulders fall and his head dips and his eyes dull. Disappointment sears through Yunho's chest, but he still doesn't know what to say.

Changmin tells him, "Maybe some other time, hyung," and they leave it at that.

* * *

In the evening, Yunho comes back with another three packets of instant noodles, canned meat, and a new canister of gas for the kerosene stove. It's the new version of luxury. He's got some booze too, a bottle of strong vodka, lacking hands to carry anything else with a high enough level of total alcohol.

And then he abandons everything because from the foot of the stairs he can see Changmin's door and its new concave of splinters. Three steps at a time, he bangs into the room and -

"Changmin?!"

Changmin doesn't look up, but Yunho doesn't care. He rushes over and pushes back at his shoulder until Changmin is laid out before him. Once he is sure that the boy is fine – hands scratched up, hair askew, and eyes red again but otherwise fine – Yunho huffs in relief. 

"Jesus fuck, Changmin, what were you –" Yunho scrubs his hand through his hair in frustration. "Changmin-ah, you can't just do this."

This – as he flops down next to Changmin and surveys the damage – is a wreck of a room. The cupboard doors are ripped off their hinges, the mirror's shattered, and – in what Yunho knows must have been a spectacular display of strength – the thick wooden bedframe has collapsed upon itself. There's a broken plank poking his ass through the mattress. It's his excuse to scoot closer to Changmin and sling an arm around his shoulder. It's not as soft as before, Changmin's shoulders are sharp angles and Yunho's arm is now all sinew and bone, but Changmin supposes it's still the most comforting thing in the world (not that there is much competition nowadays).

Yunho starts to talk because he never knows how to shut up, and although it's been a while since he's had the perfect answers like he is normally armed with, he tries. He talks about anything that comes to mind, and steers this one sided conversation by how Changmin tenses against him or melts back into his side. And then he has to pull them both up because the skies start to darken and the room begins to freeze and his mouth is parched.

Out the room, down the stairs, get the groceries he'd ditched in the front doorway – Yunho doesn't stop speaking except to swallow a quick chug of beer. Out the door and across the snow frosted sidewalk, Yunho spouts numbers because numbers are shallow and safe. He says, seven billion people down to seven million, it sounds a lot, but that means only one in a thousand people survived, got left behind, however you want to see it. 

"We've always been a small town right?" Yunho walks briskly. His hands are full with the plastic bags so Changmin has a tight grip on the hem of Yunho's jacket. "So less than a dozen people are left."

He lists them, the names only vaguely familiar to Changmin, and he doesn't mention how they had broken down, not survivors as much as abandoned, and he doesn't mention how he'd had to bury three of them in shallow graves. It's probably not that important right now.

"You're a fucking hypocrite," Changmin says when they reach Yunho's place, because the living room is a wreck that has been put back together. The sofa is on its legs but the fabric is torn, the television screen has been shattered. Gouges carve into the plaster walls and floorboards. When Changmin grinds his bare heel down, the wood gives and undulates. "Can't do these things, huh?"

Not one for excuses, Yunho merely tilts his head sheepishly and steers Changmin into the kitchen.

Yunho's skin prickles, the house as jarringly empty as it had been for months. He scatters the groceries across the kitchen counter, and at the back of his head, his mother's voice chides him for messing up her kitchen. There is someone in her house, and Yunho hadn't the decency to warn her. Getting rid of the deep set frown that has burrowed into his face, Yunho turns to Changmin. "You're hungry, right?"

"Not particularly," Changmin replies.

"Nonsense, you're always hungry." And with that, Yunho goes through the motions of making lunch. Boil water, open cans, tear packets, crack open the bottle of vodka while he's at it, passing it to Changmin who takes it and then takes a large swig.

"I remember, hyung, that you always threw shit when you got angry." Changmin's not really in control of his tongue right now, but he speaks anyway, anything to quell the fire eating away at his guts. "But obviously that didn't work. Is this your new thing? Playing house and being a fucking pussy?"

Split second, then Yunho flings a bowl at him. Changmin ducks. With a snarl, he launches himself at Yunho.

Yunho's always been active and strong, but Changmin's buffed up a lot during his time in the city; by the end of their scuffle, they are lucky nothing is broken. Everything else is bruises and scratches and laboured panting as they sprawl on their backs and try very hard not to move. 

"So let's not do that again." Yunho groans. 

When Changmin doesn't reply, Yunho looks over, and then he grimaces. Changmin notices and scrubs the wetness off his face and glares at him. His mouth opens then closes but no words come out. Changmin's throat is raw from the shouting and his eyes are swollen and his heart feels like it's been put through a blender. 

"Changmin, yah Changmin-ah," whispers Yunho. "Are you –"

Abruptly, Changmin rolls over, pushes his face into Yunho's shoulder and starts to scream. At this distance (none), it is deafening and heart wrenching and Yunho winces, but he turns onto his side and shifts closer anyway. 

The screams dissolve into curses, into incoherence, then finally into noiseless sobs that shake and convulse his thin frame. 

Yunho takes it all in stride, and when Changmin is quiet and shivering, he takes him to bed. If both their cheeks are wet, no one is around to notice.

* * *

"Okay, I've been sleeping around way too fucking much," Changmin says, first thing in the morning. "So we're going to plan shit and decide what to do next, got it?"

There is probably a reason why Changmin needs to sit on his stomach while he announces this, but it's probably the ass crack of dawn right now and Yunho doesn't actually care. He tries to roll over and gets a whack to his temple for his efforts.

"Oi, did you hear me? We're deciding where to go next," Changmin gripes. "You should probably be awake for this."

"...are we going wherever it is as a _we_?" Yunho asks blearily. 

For a moment, Changmin falters before he pushes off to the side and sits on his haunches. Air rushes against Yunho's stomach, cold and biting. "You don't have to – I just thought, what, you've already got plans?"

Oh right, be a hyung, be a hyung. Yunho wipes the drool off his chin with a corner of his blanket and then tugs Changmin down next to him so that they are shoulder to shoulder and Yunho's got a loose hold around Changmin's wrist.

"Nah, that's not what I meant," Yunho says. Mouth dry, he swallows thickly. "It's that, you know, I can't, I don't know how to leave this place." 

"Oh." Changmin pauses. "This is exactly what I meant when I said we were lying around too much."

"Hey now, this can totally be useful too," Yunho replies. He doesn't bother getting up. "What have you been up to?"

"I told you, I walked here. That's all; it took me ages to get here." There's not enough space on Yunho's single bed so when he squirms around a bit, he ends up elbowing Yunho in the ribs. It hurts a lot more than normal because of their stunt last night – Yunho coughs and resists pushing Changmin off his bed. 

"So what did you see?" Without moving, Yunho can already imagine how utterly unimpressed Changmin is with him. "I mean, we need to know what's going on before we decide, right? So we should like, collate all the info we have or something."

So Changmin starts to talk. All very sterile, his long trekked journey is reduced to statics, this many miles and that many cities broken and the number of people left. It's easier this way, to talk about waking up in an empty dorm room at seven fifteen AM, leaving out the hours he spent shouting Kyuhyun's name, to talk about scavenging broken towns but not the battlefields of ravaged homes and bloodied stores, to talk about walking down deserted streets without mentioning the suicides littering them.

"And the people who survived?"

Changmin's mouth twists into an ugly scowl. "How did the people react here?"

Images of desperation and fury flash past Yunho's eyes, a civilisation slashed down to threads. He thinks about the ugly words spat about, the quiet defeat of the abandoned, how everyone else had left him on aimless searches, or to die. 

"Not well," he says finally.

Changmin stares at the ceiling and its ugly stains. "Same with everyone, then."

Yunho hums. "That's not really useful," he admits. Same everywhere means they don't have to go anywhere, right? "Maybe we could –"

"We're not staying here, hyung." His eyebrows furrow into an angry knot. "We should at least go back to the city, that's where the remaining people are headed. Someone has to have a better idea about what's going on."

"You're from the city," Yunho argues, frowning just as hard. "And you don't have a clue."

"I'm an idiot college kid, okay, I was bumming around in the dorm playing video games the night before –" Changmin swallows. He waves his hand above his head, careless gestures that encompass everything. "Maybe I just hadn't met the right people. If it's a natural disaster, only geographers would know what’s happening right? Heck, even if it's fucking aliens, then we'll look for astronomers or astronauts or – shut up, hyung, my point is, there are still ten million people left in the world, and someone is bound to know what's going on."

"…and at the very least, we'll find someone who knows what to do next," Yunho says slowly. This makes sense, this seems the logical thing to do, but there is a gnawing in his chest, fraying at his heartstrings. "But, but someone might come back."

Changmin snorts. "After so long? You're kidding right? Whoever could come back would have reached here ages ago."

And then Yunho replies softly, "You came back."

Derision rushes out of Changmin in a quiet exhale. His hand slides out from Yunho's, and then he threads their fingers together. 

"But hyung, I – hey –" I what? Had somewhere to come back from? Had nowhere else to go? Didn't want to come back in the first place? That last one is probably the worst thing he could say. Changmin swallows and thinks hard about what would be best. Eventually, he tries, "– but I'm already here. And I didn't see anyone else on the way."

"There – but there could be."

"Okay." For a long moment they are quiet, and then Changmin says, "I'll wait with you, if you want."

Yunho starts, then stops to think. Changmin watches his face scrunch up from the corner of his eye. Then laughter splutters out of him. "Nah, that's fine, you – aish, _you_ – fine. _Fine_. We'll go somewhere."

His thumb is digging into the back of Changmin's hand, so Changmin squeezes back and doesn't let go until Yunho does.

* * *

The kitchen is a mess.

"This is disgusting," Changmin points out. Cheerfully, he turns to Yunho and adds, " _You're_ disgusting. I don't know how you'd survived so long without me."

"I have no idea either," replies Yunho just as cheerfully, because Changmin sets to cleaning up his kitchen for him, at the same time collecting all the shit they'd need for their journey. Yunho himself has a trash bag in hand and makes himself useful by doing absolutely nothing unless Changmin has more things to throw away. He shuffles around the room as Changmin dictates and tries to accept this strange scene he's found himself in.

Two things make their packing more difficult: 

1\. They are bundled up in thick winter clothing because the spare generator has gone bust, so it's hard to move around. This is easily remedied – Yunho takes his puffy overcoat off. He stops Changmin from removing his because the air bites and gets an unimpressed look. Changmin doesn't do anything else however, and that's that.

2\. Changmin is an excellent planner usually, but given their new and exciting circumstances, he has no idea what to bring along and what to toss. Everything is useful and useless at the same time; Changmin thinks himself into tangled knots trying to predict the future. The mound of possibly necessary equipment and the things that Changmin brought over begin to pile up in a neat semi-circle around their haversacks. There is enough crap to build forts, with extra for ammunition. Yunho bites down on his lower lip and surveys the organised clutter.

"This is not working out," Yunho announces to the world at large. He twitches when Changmin turns that deadly glower from the stuff to him. "Right, right. Let's see if I can help."

In the end, Yunho takes to plucking things out of Changmin's hold and chucking it wherever Changmin last second guessed himself. They end up with haversacks each as thick as their torsos, filled with clothing and survival kits. Odd items such as duct tape and a glass cutter have been put in as well; Yunho feels like he is about to embark on the most exciting camping trip of his life.

"Good," Changmin says. The smirk on his face is almost satisfied. "Now for the food."

"What?!" Yunho shoots the bags a dubious look. "We're going on foot, you know that, right? How are we going to carry so many –"

"Oh, hyung, don't worry about it." Changmin pats his shoulder indulgently. "I've learnt a few tricks of my own."

While Changmin sets to the task of crushing everything in, Yunho goes out to grab food supplies from the convenience store.

"Any requests?" He asks, one foot already out the door.

"Cigarettes!" Changmin yells from the living room.

Stunned, Yunho steps back in. "You smoke now?" Disbelief colours his voice, he remember those repulsed faces Changmin had pulled when he'd nearly picked up the habit.

"Nah, don't be gross, hyung. It's like an alternative currency out there." A pause. "And grab condoms too."

"...currency?"

"Yes...?"

"Ah," comes the reply, and Changmin must have imagined that hint of disappointment that carries faintly across.

Feeling reckless, he shouts back, "What, did you want something from me? You only have to ask!" but Yunho's already gone so Changmin is left feeling kind of really stupid. He swallows the lump in his throat and buries it deep in his stomach.

When Yunho comes back, Changmin is sprawled out on the sofa, scowling at the ceiling. He takes a seat on the floor and leans against the arm rest that Changmin's head is on.

"So," he starts, "I got the cigarettes. And the condoms. And canned food and chocolate and bottled water and everything else."

"That's good. I'll check if you've missed anything," Changmin replies. 

It takes him ten minutes to push off the sofa and shuffle over to the grocery bags.

"Because you're the expert, right?" Yunho watches as Changmin sorts through the things carefully, then makes them magically disappear into haversacks that he thought was already full. Huh. "I don't remember you having so much shit when you came." 

"Used most of it up." And it had been too heavy a weight to carry. And he had gotten too tired to go much further, so he hadn't seen the need to take much of it with him. Changmin squints at what little he's decided to bring. For a month's long journey, they only have enough to last a week, but it isn't really worth heaving around more than this. He shakes his head. "We'll definitely have to restock on the way."

"Oh, okay." Yunho helps to crush the bags' mouths together as Changmin wrestles with the zippers. "That's going to explode when we next try to open them, you know that right?"

Changmin shoots him an unimpressed glare as he dumps them aside. He takes a deep breath, and Yunho braces himself, but what comes out is, "We're really doing this?"

"Yep." Yunho's tone is light, but his heart is clenching at the thought of leaving. He's pretty sure he wouldn't be coming home again, at least not for a long time. There isn't anything or anyone to come back to, he tells himself. Once again for good measure – "Second thoughts?"

"Nah." For a moment, Changmin gets this ridiculous look on his face, half angry and half exasperated, lower lip jutting out. He stomps his way to the front door, and Yunho trails behind him, amused. "It's just – I just got here! And now we're going back to the city I left? Argh."

"We can always postpone, it's not like we have to leave tomorrow."

"Is that what you want?"

"...no. No, there's no point in staying."

"Okay. See you tomorrow, hyung."

* * *

The car they pick is small and intensely lavender; Changmin pulls a face at the unmanly colour, but they have no choice but to go with it. There are other cars at the edge of town where there are no abandoned vehicles to block their path, but Changmin had popped their hoods and glared at the engines before deeming them all unsuitable. For what, Yunho doesn't want to believe he knows, but he supposes he's about to find out. From the passenger seat he watches as Changmin folds his long form into the driver’s seat. When he snaps his leg out under the dashboard, plastic cracks beneath the steel cap of his boot. Changmin kicks it a few more time for good measure, then slides down. His head disappears beneath the steering wheel.

"What are you doing?!" Yunho squawks as something sparks very near where Changmin's head should be. 

"Starter solenoid," comes his muffled reply. "I've just got to – aha!"

The car splutters to life. Changmin reappears and revs up the engine. The grin on his face is manic as they pull out onto the road. "How's that for a magic trick?!" 

Yunho almost doesn't want to know. "...what the hell did they teach you in university?"

"I, uhh, worked as a mechanic's assistant for a while," Changmin tries. He rolls his eyes when Yunho scoffs at him. "Whatever, hyung. Which way do I go?'

It's straight for the most of the afternoon. The windows are wound down so when they stop alongside a car Changmin threw away on his way here, their hair resembles hay. Yunho shoves the hair out his face and wishes he'd visited the barber before they all disappeared. Maybe Changmin would give him a hand later. Now, the man's pulling spare batteries and plastic bottles of gasoline out of the trunk. He dumps them into their current car and slams he hood down with loud satisfaction.

"There. Unless the car fucks up and breaks down –" he shoots one last glare towards the old car "– this should last us at least two more towns."

And it would have if it weren't for the fallen tree blocking their route at the next town. Changmin does his magic trick one more time, and their next car isn't a car but a truck. It's covered in rust where its murky green paint is peeling, and the cab smells of fried food, but the bed is clean so that is where they set up camp.

"Any reason why we're not going into town?" Yunho asks as he watches Changmin stick a heating patch under his layers of t-shirts and a sweater. "There might be people –"

"There are," Changmin replies. He stares up at the sky above their heads as though counting the stars. "Which is why we're not going."

Yunho thinks of the stench of rot and the buildings charred black, and keeps quiet for the rest of the night. This first night away eats at his nerves, and when he closes his eyes, doubt begins to paint the back of his eyelids. 

"Yunho. Yunho-hyung," Changmin whispers to his right. "Are you alright?"

When Yunho doesn't reply, Changmin rolls onto his side and takes his hands. He digs his chin into Yunho's shoulder and declares softly, "I knew it, you're freezing. Don't worry, you'll get used it."

Yunho isn't sure what he's talking about, except that he might have an inkling, maybe. It's kind of confusing, and Yunho doesn't think he's made for this type of thinking, so he closes his eyes and resolutely does not.

He wakes up with his nose stinging from the chilly morning breeze, but the rest of him is warm because Changmin is curled up atop his stomach, possibly drooling onto his jacket. After a month of waking up alone in the world, Yunho's body flares at the prospect – there has to be none, but that doesn't stop the heat from pooling in his crotch, and he aches with want. Straight away, he is aware of the tickle of Changmin's hair against his chin, the weight of Changmin's hand clutching his jacket against his chest, the tangle of their legs. Okay, not good. Yunho fumbles and struggles, but Changmin clings and he's a lot stronger than he used to be, and it's only making things worse. Panicking, Yunho breathes in deeply and tugs the hem of his sweater up, the cold air slams into him, stinging –

"Hyung?" 

Yunho jerks up, cheeks flushed, and quickly adjusts his pants. Occupied with rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Changmin doesn't notice. Too damned close, and Yunho can't help but snort with laughter.

"Changmin, good morning!"

Honestly? It's a promising start to the day. And it delivers; they reach the second town with little hassle, and it is deserted, but peacefully. This miniature town only has one marketplace, and most of the produce has either spoiled or turned to mush, but they do manage to salvage a few cans of stew and pasta. A fed Changmin is a happy Changmin; when Yunho gets them lost despite the fact that they are on an open road with nothing to get lost in, Changmin kindly lets him blame his inexperience. He doesn't mention at all that the roads are the same as they've ever been, he doesn't mention much at all actually. The longer they travel together, the quieter he gets. In fact, he is perfectly helpful and more than willing to take on both share of any task. It's unfamiliar, and Yunho wonders if this is also part of his growing up. 

One day, Yunho will understand all of Changmin's strange anal retentive ways. He will catalogue all the habits Changmin had picked up in college, and he will catalogue all the unique ticks to Changmin and his post world routine. Today, he settles for being utterly bemused as he watches Changmin spread the contents of their bags across the floor. They're in the same place with the same nothing, and there isn't anything they can add to their supplies, so there isn't any need to repack.

When Yunho says this out loud, Changmin doesn't quite arch an extremely unimpressed eyebrow at him like he'd expected him to, stopping himself at the last moment. He ducks his head, mouth twisted into an odd grimace.

"We're getting closer," Changmin says. His eyes spark with something strange – determination? desperation? – and it's hard to catch it. When Yunho tries, Changmin flinches, and his frown deepens. He snatches their provisions out of Yunho's hands to pack them himself. "Let me," he mumbles, so Yunho does.

* * *

When it finally clicks, he doesn't wait for any right moment.

"You don't owe me anything," Yunho says suddenly. Changmin looks up from a can of soup, confusion splashed across his features. Regardless, Yunho barges on with the assumption that Changmin knows exactly what he means. "You don't have to do all this for me, you know. I can take care of myself, or I can learn how to. You don't owe me anything," Yunho repeats, "because I didn't have anything to hold against you in the first place."

Finally, Changmin makes a small lost sound, but by the time he opens his mouth to reply, Yunho has already taken the can from his hand to start dinner. What comes out instead is, "Do you mind if we open an extra can tonight?"

Yunho quirks an eyebrow at him. "You and your appetite," he accuses in a tone that is not at all accusatory. "Sure. Which one do you want?'

It isn't till much later that Changmin decides that he does in fact know what Yunho is talking about. Then, with his arm pressed to Yunho's as they lay side by side, he decides to reply.

"Yunho-hyung," he whispers, then waits until Yunho shifts on his side to face him. Changmin keeps looking at the skylight and the pinprick of constellations above him. But he has always been blunt so he says, "I don't regret leaving, you know?"

"...I don't regret you leaving either," Yunho replies finally. He curls an arm between his head and the pillow to see Changmin better. There is just enough moonlight to make out his profile. "Changmin-ah, I knew why you had to leave, and I already said I never held it against you."

"I know that. You're too nice, hyung," Changmin says. He tries to lilt his voice to make it a joke, but it still sounds honest; Yunho-hyung has always been too nice for Changmin, as well as to him. "I just – I thought I needed to grow up and that it had to be without you; hyung, we've been together all my life, yeah? I guess I was afraid of hiding in your shadow forever."

Changmin pauses to swallow. He's distinctly aware of Yunho's gaze pinning him down.

"So, when I got that scholarship and left, I thought that I had to – had to push you away and do all those things." Again, he pauses. Yunho is so close that Changmin can feel him tense up just barely in a muted wince. It's not enough – Changmin turns onto his side to see him better and ends up even closer still. His eyes widen as they meet Yunho's, Changmin feels that now's the time for any one of the confessions he's come to realise since the start of the journey, and he ends up saying, "Sorry. I'm – really sorry, hyung. I didn’t – I shouldn't have hurt you. Sorry."

For the longest moment, Yunho watches him, face unreadable even if it weren't for the almost darkness. Changmin wants to squirm, but he meets Yunho's gaze straight on instead. It's the least he should do.

Abruptly, Yunho lets out a chuckle. The stillness spills away, and the man is alive again, face pleasant and happy and really, so vibrant that Changmin's breath catches in his throat. 

"I've been waiting forever to hear that," Yunho confesses sheepishly. "I mean, at first it sucked – you bastard, don't think I won't call you out for that later – but I guess I should have known, and I guessed it after a while, but knowing you, knowing that? I just." Yunho gives up on words and ends up ruffling Changmin's hair like no tomorrow.

It's probably too soon to find it annoying, Changmin thinks, and it really isn't so he lets him. "I just want you to know that I am. Sorry. Didn't mean any of it, I wouldn't have… Please don't hate me for it."

Yunho crinkles his eyes at him. "You stupid fuck," he interrupts happily, "I never stopped caring about you in the first place."

"Oh." Changmin feels his heart do a strange dance. It feels as awkward as it would be if Changmin did so himself. "I. Okay. Hm." And all of a sudden, heat tidal waves across his cheeks. With a cough, Changmin curls up and squeezes his eyes shut. "Okay. Now that that's done, I. Goodnight!"

Yunho stares down at the mess of dark hair and is tempted to mess it even further again. Instead he says, "For what it's worth, I think you grew up fine," and presses his chin atop his crown. "Goodnight, Changmin-ah."

There's still a ways to go, as their relationship is still not quite what it once was. The tension between them lingers, but it's no longer sour. It’s better. They're better.

This is of course when they hit their first pothole.

They drive until they cannot drive any farther – a giant tree has fallen across their path. Sink or swim, Yunho drives off the road to get around it. The car promptly sinks. Changmin watches from his perch on the tree trunk looking entirely unimpressed. When Yunho shoots him an unimpressed look of his own, _get up and help me you bastard_ , he sighs and gets to his feet in one slow strenuous movement.

"Well," says Changmin with a tone of finality. He glances at the tires that have been buried deep into the slush of melting snow and ice. "That's that then. Now comes the walking part."

Nodding, Yunho hefts his backpack onto his shoulders. "I thought you were exaggerating when you said you walked home."

"Why the hell would I do that?" The car things will have to be left behind, Changmin decides as he does the same, or it’ll be too much to carry. 

"I don't know. I was hoping, I guess. But I don't mind walking," Yunho declares optimistically. "I like walking."

Changmin answers, "That's what you think."

* * *

For a long time after, they walk and walk and walk. There is no fixable vehicle along the way, and the road is littered with debris now that there are no underpaid workers to clear them. Changmin keeps as break neck a pace as he can without breaking into a run; there are many things about Changmin that Yunho doesn't understand, but this one he gets the least. The roads are rough and painful to walk on, yet Changmin seems intent on charging through the lot of them.

Yunho follows after, finding it difficult keep up with both the speed and what he is seeing. There are any numbers of things wrong with the picture in front of him: The backpack straps dig deep into his shoulders, but Changmin's back remain straight as a rod. Perspiration beads at the back of his neck, making his hair curl and cling to his skin, but he doesn't slow. Every step crackles and crunches as Changmin systematically obliterates everything in his path. 

It's been days.

Despite all this, Changmin is calm. Changmin is the very essence of calm. Changmin is the calmest Yunho has ever seen him, so of course, Yunho starts to freak out.

"Changmin –" Yunho starts. Changmin doesn't seem to hear him, intent as he is on crushing the branches in his way. "Hey, Changmin!"

The man turns sharply on his heel towards him. His expression is set, mild and questioning.

"Don't you think we're going a bit too strong?" Yunho frowns at the tension in Changmin's shoulders. Changmin's had it since he was young and stressing over school, and that taunt line usually appeared right before he exploded. "There's still a long way to go, don't want to burn ourselves out."

"It's either this or the road goes on for fucking ever." Changmin's eyes seem to spark. "I'd rather be bloody exhausted than to have this trip take any longer than it has to."

"What, is my company so hard to put up with?" 

"No, it isn't," Changmin says, and then the stomping is a lot closer to Yunho. He doesn't notice when Yunho winces as he shatters a glass bottle centimetres away from Yunho's ankles. "But. But still. It's tiring."

Every other attempt to get Changmin to slow down meets with roughly the same fate. Otherwise, their journey runs smoothly, all things considered. Yunho is easy company, and Changmin falls back into his familiar charms easily. They've known each other for so long that the obligatory period best friends have where they hate each other's guts have passed. Changmin doesn't say anything when Yunho dumps his things all over the place every time he sets up camp, and Yunho learns quickly not to question the strange discoveries Changmin's made about survival. They turn out to be true anyway; the lone man they've met traded heat patches for cigarettes before stalking off hurriedly, and that one time they find shoes sticking out of an awfully lumpy mound of snow – Changmin drags them in a wide berth around it, and Yunho doesn't want to protest.

The other half of their time is spent quietly, resting swollen feet and steering thoughts away from too gruesome a reality. Theirs is a symbiotic relationship. Changmin fusses over him as he always has, this time with his greater experience as leverage, though Yunho waves him off with false bravado each time. Then Yunho counters with his hyung advantage, and presses until Changmin inevitably gives in. Meanwhile, he contemplates his next plan of attack to get Changmin to loosen up.

The air is turning warm, however, and it mellows his resolve. Winter is dwindling, and she takes with it that aggravating sharpness. By town number eight, the skies have grown fuller. It must be early spring now because there are afternoon showers and pleasant breezes in the evenings. The town that they are in has levelled up as well. This one is actually a town and not some half-hearted clutter of old buildings.

The bad news is that this means it'd housed a large population, and the remnants of that population hadn't dealt well with the end of the world. Changmin is used to it in a way he never wanted to be, so he stares up at the sky when they pass by the liquor store with the decomposing carcasses and the smashed windows with their rust coloured stains and the acrimonious wills carved into the walls. Yunho follows by example but can do nothing against the nausea pitchforking itself into his chest. There had been the occasional body curled into itself but with the ice and the pale blue tinge, it'd been too surreal to comprehend. This time Yunho cannot escape the stain of death, and he's reminded of all the reasons he'd stayed in his hometown for so long. Granted it'd been mostly for foolish hope but even Yunho's realistic enough to be afraid to leave.

"Hey, Yunho-hyung?" At Changmin's voice, Yunho's head jerks out of the clouds. Changmin meets him with a worried frown, anxiety painted over his features. Yunho's been pasty these few days but today, he is nearly white and covered in a sheen of sweat. It's still cold, and Changmin bites down on his bottom lip. "Yunho-hyung, are you okay?"

No, I'm not, Yunho wants to say but he has a feeling he'd laugh and then Changmin would fuss even more. He thinks hard for words to describe the clawing at his chest, the drilling at the back of his head, how his breathing has gotten shallow and lethargic in some disgustingly helpless manner. "I'm fine," he says.

Changmin's eyes narrow in a way that would be terrifying if his eyebrows hadn't slanted with concern. "Don't lie to me, Yunho." He reaches out to grab his wrist, then breathes in sharply. The skin he touched scorches. Alarm bells go off when Yunho tries to pull his hand back but can't. "Shit, Yunho, you're burning up. Are you sick, fuck, you are, aren't you?"

"Changmin, shut up, calm down, I'm not – fuck." Yunho makes the mistake of shaking his head – the world flips over on him and back again. What? Everything tilts and blurs and for a second Yunho is lost. Changmin's fingers are tight around his wrist, and Yunho is pulled back to earth, then closer still until Yunho can feel it when Changmin speaks. Raises his voice. Shouts. It's all very loud and angry and not helping the sudden pain sparking through his body. "Changmin-ah... Really... I'm just a bit under the weather, don't –"

And that's when his knees buckle.

* * *

"You stupid fuck, I am going to kill you – kill you _dead_! Do you hear me, Jung Yunho?"

But of course the man doesn't because he's an unconscious slump against Changmin's side, head lolling uselessly on his shoulder. Changmin wants to shake him until he wakes up and that stupidity is knocked out of that thick skull of his, but Changmin is tired. He's tired from desperately keeping Yunho upright despite their heavy backpacks dragging them both down, he's tired of dragging dead weight across the town towards a hospital he may or may not have seen, and he's tired that his lack of directional sense and utter panic has led him in fucking circles when they clearly don't have any time to lose.

By the time Changmin finds the hospital, he is red faced and painfully out of breath. The bad thing is that Yunho is as well, despite the fact that he's not moved by himself since his collapse. Changmin wants badly to check on him but he can't, not out here in the elements, with his backpack threatening to topple him over. He wants badly to dump it as well, but he's already abandoned Yunho's backpack a few blocks down, and there are supplies he knows he has to keep near him. 

The hospital in front of him is a stumpy white building, four stories in height. Changmin had worried how they were going to break in through the reinforced windows and automated doors that have long shut down, but there's a truck that's run straight through the glass panels and into the lobby. Suspicion stirs but there are no signs of the driver, and the frame of the truck is rusted where it'd been torn apart by the doors, so he moves them inside anyway. It’s a struggle getting both of them past the glass shards and jutting metal, but there isn't any choice. Cloth tears, Changmin can't tell whose, can only hope the thick layers of clothing would protect them. Teeth gritted painfully, he carries Yunho to the sofa furthest into the building.

He doesn't want to – God knows if there were any other way, he would – but Changmin is forced to leave Yunho's side. Muscles already aching, Changmin hurtles himself through the building, searching for supplies. Blankets, bandages, the small assortment of medication left behind by the raids, everything he can carry at one go, he brings back to Yunho. His hands shake when he drapes a blanket across Yunho's shoulders, then reaches beneath to tug open at his jacket. Beneath his scarf and underclothing, Yunho's skin is pale and clammy. His breathing is shallow, but his heart is steady and when Changmin presses his ear to his chest, his lungs are clear as he coughs.

Yunho just has pneumonia. Changmin spent four years in med school just to be sure, so he's pretty damned sure – it’s easy enough to cure if you know what you're doing except the world's fucking ended, and there were only so many bottles of medication left and half had been broken, it may have been weeks or months ago, Changmin doesn't know, he can't – 

Fuck.

Changmin pulls a surgical mask over his nose and mask, and takes a deep breath. Even through the musty material, the air smells stale and disgusting. It jolts him back to his senses and affords him focus. In front of him is a scattering of pill bottles that he's salvaged from the various floors that he must sort through with utmost care. Some of them he tosses aside straight away – cracked seals and foggy plastic all have to go. Yunho's best bet is that small bottle of antibiotics, seal unbroken. Changmin swallows one of the large white pills, and waits an hour for any tell-tale stir of nausea or dizziness. 

There is none. 

If there were time to spare, Changmin would wait a little longer, search for something better. As it is, a pill is swiftly crushed into pieces, and a bottle of water is uncapped, ready. Changmin forces Yunho's jaws apart and tips the medicine in, massaging at his throat until he swallows. For a moment, Yunho splutters, mouth greedy around the neck of the bottle, then he settles down again, quiet.

Done, and done. With a shudder, Changmin rocks back on the balls of his heels and lands heavily on the ground. There isn't anything left to do but wait. Something catches in his chest, hammering against his ribs for a way out. He takes a deep calming breath – doesn't fucking work – and replaces the damp cloth on Yunho's forehead. There's nothing else he can do now, he repeats, except to wait if – until Yunho gets better. All he has to do is let time pass and then Yunho – always strong – will recover. It's a sure thing. 

Again, Changmin inhales, then releases the lungful of air as if it will take the painful thudding with it. The only things louder than his heart right now are the roaring in his ears and the treachery of his thoughts. Changmin does his best to silence them. It wouldn't do to disturb Yunho's sleep.

* * *

The day drags into the next, each five hour block punctuated by Yunho's fitful rise to consciousness. Changmin taps him awake, keeps a hand to his flushed cheek until his eyes blink open, pink and bleary. When Changmin presses antibiotics to his lips, Yunho whines at the bitter taste and winces at the iciness of the bottle water, but doesn't resist otherwise. For this, Changmin is grateful. He pitches his voice low and soothing – _hyung, how are you feeling?_ – and bites his lip when Yunho replies with characteristic pig-headedness, _I'm b-better, it's gotten warm in here, right?_ But that's good too, it’s a sign that the medication should be working, right? If he is lucid enough to be a stubborn idiot, then he should be getting better.

Unfortunately, lucid Yunho becomes an overprotective Yunho. Late afternoon – warm enough that Changmin dares to risk dozing off – he is awakened by an insistent shoving at his shoulders. His inner alarm blares, and he jerks upright, only to be pushed down again and away from the sofa. Yunho glares at him, propped up on his elbows. Despite the fact that he has no strength to sit up, he finds the energy to resist Changmin's advances.

"Get the fuck away from me," he hisses, voice rough. "What if I'm contagious?"

It's a good thing Changmin has experience with stubborn patients. He makes a show of snapping a clean surgical mask over his nose and mouth, holds him back down, and leans threateningly closer every time Yunho tries to push him away. It gets harder as Yunho regains his strength, and meal times are always a bit messy, but Changmin can't summon up the energy to be angry at him.

He gets better, he gets better, he gets better.

By the week's end, he is – well. Possibly. Changmin can't be sure but Yunho insists that he is fine, _fine_ , fine this time, and they've been running out of food, they can't stay here any longer…

"Are you sure?" Changmin bites at his lip.

Yunho answers with a grin, bounces on the heels of his feet, the picture of health.

The first thing Changmin does is hit him. 

"Ow," Yunho rasps out belatedly. "What was that for?"

Changmin considers hitting him again, this time with the water bottle. Instead he uncaps it for Yunho to drink. Yunho takes it gratefully. When he's done, he looks to Changmin and braces himself, but the angry outburst never comes. Changmin is quiet, quietly taking his temperature, quietly feeding him another two pills, and quietly not making any eye contact at all. This is a lot worse, Yunho thinks, and if he didn't still feel the residual aches of illness, he'd be tempted to get Changmin to hit him again. 

"Changmin? Changmin-ah." No response. The knot between Changmin's eyes only tightens. Yunho panics a bit, and sits back down next to him on the sofa. "Changmin – I’m sorry?"

Changmin's head jerks up sharply. "Was that a question?" he demands. "That's a good fucking question, hyung. What are you sorry for? Me for having to taking care of your sorry dying ass? Or for almost killing yourself?" Changmin hits him again, landing a solid punch against his arm, then curls his fingers tight into his sleeve. "I don't need your apologies, Jung Yunho. Just – don't do that again."

"Changmin, I'm – I won't. I promise." Yunho pulls at his sleeve lightly, just to get his attention. He doesn't want him catching anything – Changmin slides over anyway, slumping bonelessly next to him so that his arm is flung across Yunho's chest. For a long moment, they are quiet.

"Hey," Yunho murmurs, dragging his fingers through Changmin's hair. "What happened to my bag?"

A pause.

"In the street?" Changmin grins, sheepish, as Yunho lets out a loud peal of laughter. It feels foreign on his mouth, but it feels good.

"We should probably go get it," Yunho says brightly.

"You get it. I'll stay here and see if I can salvage anymore medication." 

Changmin chews on the inside of his cheek and watches Yunho leave. He doesn't teeter, there isn't any falter in his stride – fuck it, Changmin jumps to his feet and follows.

* * *

After that, Changmin learns to take better care of Yunho. He knows now that when Yunho says things like no it's fine, and smile that disarming smile of his, Changmin shouldn't let himself be fooled. He learns to ignore the brightness of Yunho's face and to thwap him when he suspects he's lying. When the man falters or when he feels himself growing tired, he pushes them, not farther, but to stop. It's a different journey from the one he'd taken home, despite the same road. Changmin finds that he enjoys this one a lot better.

This is especially true because his company is pleasant, and Changmin has That One Time You Nearly Died to hold over his head. In all honesty, Changmin's not as angry as he makes himself out to be, nor was he surprised it happened in the first place. The conditions are worse than when he started out, a month more of decay overwhelmingly potent. And even then he'd fallen ill any number of times due to exhaustion or malnutrition or the simple lack of clean water. There was that one memorable episode when he'd made himself worse than he had been with medication that had been breached and spoiled. These are all lessons he tucks under his belt and uses to keep Yunho and himself both well alive. One day, when things have settled down, and this is all distant enough a past for Yunho not to suffocate him with worry, Changmin will tell him of these stories.

For now he is satisfied with the other man's presence alone. For as much as Changmin is the more experienced survivalist in this adventure, he can't help but wonder who is taking care of whom. Even the end of the world hasn't budged his dislike of touching, but now Changmin is often struck with the urge to reach out – hand on his shoulder, his arm, elbows brushing and knees knocking – just to make sure that Yunho is still next to him. There is no doubt in his mind that Yunho supports him, and he finds himself wondering just how much in the quiet of the night, when the man is pressed tightly to his back. If this were an equation or a scale test, he wonders if the balance tips in his favour. 

Yunho is unnervingly good at being – alive. At being alive in the aftermath of the world's end. At being alive though it seemed as though there was nothing and no one to live for. At being alive and wanting to continue being so. Changmin's sure his company helps, in the most un-egocentric way possible, but he's just a bit jealous that Yunho hasn't once cried, or insisted on walking until his legs gave out, or tried falling asleep on his stomach with his face in his makeshift pillow, for the off chance that he'd be smothered to death in his sleep. A complete one eighty from how Changmin had coped, Yunho picks apart the scabs over the memories he'd tried to forget.

"It doesn't make sense not to," he says with the air of a self-assured man. Changmin isn't sure how that's possible given the circumstance, but he's impressed nonetheless. "If we don't remember them, there'd truly be nothing left right? I don't think my family deserves that."

So Yunho tells him stories of his family, of his cute younger sister and his lovely mother and how they'd missed Changmin while he was away. Then there are stories of the jobs he'd taken trying to discern a future that doesn't matter anymore, but he doesn't regret a single one of them. He talks about football matches that Changmin still doesn't give a fuck about, but listens for the way Yunho lights up or rolls his eyes at him when he says something particularly ignorant. And sometimes when it isn't too painful, Yunho will talk about his father, and Changmin will ask after his own family. 

Changmin had planned the journey home to be his last, because he'd thought he would never survive another one. Those plans seem stupid now.

Pit stop number something-or-another is a city that has been stripped clean. There is nothing salvageable but it is free of stench and decomposition. They set up camp in the furniture store of the large mall, empty and wired in some modern, acrobatic attempt at architecture. Wooden bed frames have been taken apart for firewood in the winter months, but the mattresses have been spared. A king sized is dragged out into the main foyer, under the skylight.

"Feels like a bird cage," Yunho comments. He's sprawled out on the bare mattress, and the metal railings of the floor above him threaten to collapse around him ."I can't imagine what it feels like to fly."

"You are so poetic," Changmin says. He's returned with sheets dug out from the back room. The fabric is printed with ecstatic looking vegetables. "Look, hyung, just like the set you used to have. Now move and let me get them on."

When Changmin's done tucking the sheets around the mattress, Yunho sprawls back across it. He watches Changmin from the corner of his eyes; Changmin doesn't notice because he's rummaging through their bags for dinner.

The sky takes longer to grow dark now, and Yunho takes a while to fall asleep. The world is light again or as light as it can be. The lingering feeling that this is all some sort of fantastical camping trip returns. It’s a good feeling, as though soon, they will pack up their tents and return home. It's a comforting feeling.

Just as Yunho is about to fall asleep, the mattress undulates beside him.

"Oh, one more thing." Changmin's whisper echoes loudly in the dark of the night. "Yunho-hyung, I never should have left you."

"Whargh?" Yunho slurs. "Yes you should have – we just had this conversation last night."

"No, you idiot. I don't regret leaving home but I never should have left _you_." With that Changmin hoists himself on an elbow, leans over, and presses their lips together soundly. Then he lies back down, sated. "There. Goodnight."

Come morning, Yunho doesn't remember falling asleep, but he does wake up with half of Changmin draped over his body. He isn't quite sure if last night was a dream and spends the rest of the morning confused because Changmin is too sleep-soft and bleary to be coherent.

In the end, just as they are leaving, Yunho mentions, as casually as possible, "You talk in your sleep."

Changmin fixes him with a look that makes him doubt his subtlety. "I've always talked in my sleep," he replies. All traces of sleep gone, his voice takes on a sharpness that colours it with uncertainty. "But you already know what I'm like when I do that." 

That's true; Yunho can't quite match last night's episode with any of the past. So he stops, waits until Changmin turns to him questioningly, and kisses him.

No hesitation now, Changmin smiles against his mouth and kisses back.

Oh. Okay then.

 

(Changmin wakes up in the middle of the night, cold sweat gathered on his skin, heat throbbing between his thighs. Inwardly, he groans, not again. With painful caution, he wriggles out from under Yunho's arm, hyper aware of every brush of skin sparking at his nerves. Free, he makes to roll out of the sleeping bag – nothing like a face full of slush in lieu of a cold shower.

Before he succeeds, Yunho grabs him by the waist and yanks him back in. Startled, Changmin gasps, and again when Yunho's fingertips trace fire underneath the hem of his t-shirt.

"Changmin?" Yunho's voice is rough with sleep, and threaded through with heady desire. "Where are you going?"

Before he can answer, Yunho's large hands are pulling at his zipper, palming down into his – oh god. Changmin moans, his hips jerking frantically as Yunho tugs on his erection, thumbs at the head of his cock. It's too much, too fast, but Changmin presses closer anyway, bites at Yunho's plump bottom lip and thrusts his tongue into his mouth, swallowing his eager gasp – 

Right, this too. Okay then.)

* * *

When the world first ended, Changmin's way of dealing with people was not to deal with them. They were all strangers anyway, or people he'd known who'd become strangers. Like how the old lady next door would never have hung herself from the window, and how the sweet librarian he'd have coffee with would never have set everything in the library on fire (nobody to read them anyway, what's the fucking point, I can't read them all, I can't – ).

Seoul is a brief affair.

There are indeed more people than either of them had seen in the past half year but therein lies the problem. Most of the population is a generic stew of end of the world despair, rotting away on sidewalks or smashing through glass, red-faced with alcohol and angry helplessness. Humanity reverts too easily to its primal state, all debauchery down every dark alley and mindless violence on every street. It is unfortunate, then, that they are not the worst of the human beings that remain in this world. 

Changmin drags Yunho away from the manic preachers, from the cult leaders, and everything in between. There are as many people dead as there are living, chasing after friends and loved ones to wherever they've passed on to. Changmin avoids every corpse and consoles himself that their carcasses are vastly different from the vanished. The fact that there are bodies is hopeful. Right. Of course. It’s both the most comforting and nauseating thought that he has rattling around his head.

In the end, there are no answers to be found. 

There are theories of aliens, of malevolent gods, of supernatural disasters, but each of them is sold with the same desperate conviction as the next. Any wordsmith worth his salt can make an argument sound convincing. Changmin can't puzzle through any of them, can't logically confirm nor deny any of them. Yunho feels the same unsettlement and distrust brewing in his stomach at all of them. It's a dead end.

The decision to leave is unanimous.

"We can't stay here," Changmin mutters. The curtains are drawn but he ducks away from the shadows wandering by regardless. "No one has any bloody clue, and even if one of those bullshit theories turns out to be true – " he spreads his hands, palms upturned, " – there is nothing we can do about it."

"What are you saying? We can't give up yet." Yunho shuts the door to the ransacked shop house they've taken shelter in, and dumps his bag atop an empty shelf. When he turns, Changmin has his lips pressed white.

"We're not giving up!" Changmin's expression straddles fearful and heartbroken. Yunho reaches across to stop whatever Changmin has to say with that look, but it's too late. "Hyung, maybe we should stop chasing the past." He swallows, the ashy taste of defeat and guilt heady on his tongue. "It's over now, isn't it? We can't keep – "

"That's giving up!" Yunho hisses. "Don’t you fucking dare!"

" _You're_ the one who's given up," Changmin spits back, a furious knot at the back of his throat. "We've no fucking clue what happened and all the people left here are fucking crazy! We have to – do something else. Can't we just, just focus on the future first?"

There is a volcano of resentment and hate that Yunho has been pushing down, and it threatens right then to erupt – a year's worth of grief and anger, at the world, at his losses – but Changmin stops him. Rather, it is the gauntness of his face and the tired slump of his bony frame that stops him. In the weeks of constantly pushing onwards with blind enthusiasm, in his pouring the white heat of emotions into Changmin's body, mouth to his supple flesh, hard and greedy, Yunho realises he hasn't truly seen Changmin in a while.

Cautiously, he traces a thumb over the bags beneath Changmin's eyes, blued with exhaustion. He sucks in a breath when Changmin turns into his touch, eyes fluttering shut as though it takes too much effort to keep them open. All at once, his arms are suddenly full, and Changmin's burying his face into his neck, the abrupt force of his weight almost knocking them over. Changmin slumps against him, and Yunho sags against the wall, sliding down until he is sitting on the dusty floor, Changmin between his legs and cradled against his chest.

"I guess," he swallows, voice foreign, "we should stop running now."

It takes a few tries before Changmin can speak. "We're not staying here?" He grimaces. "I am not walking all the way back again."

Yunho chuckles softly. "We won't," he promises. "We'll figure something out."

The opposite of despair is either hope or desperation. This cleaves the remaining population into three nice parts, and Changmin says _fuck you_ to all of them. The despairing are soon the dead, Changmin's too old for blind faith, and the desperate are often bloodied. In every person there was an accusation; Changmin feels inexplicably guilty for surviving. Shame faced, he'd journeyed home with his head ducked low. If he'd found his family then he wouldn't be the disgusting shit coward who hadn't lifted a single finger to save them. This worked out pretty well because every other survivor was equally as jilted and shied away from company. 

Special snowflake that he is, Yunho walks up to the first person they come across and offers her food.

"She is going to rob you blind," Changmin observes as the scraggly middle aged woman devours a can of sardines. And then he says, "Told you so," when she does exactly that when they turn their backs for one second.

"It's fine, I kind of figured you were right so..." Yunho cheerfully folds away the black trash bag that previously held their supplies. Before Changmin can hit him with their one remaining bottle of clean water, Yunho snaps open his pack and reveals it stuffed full of their food supplies, about two thirds their previous load. "But she's got child sized teeth marks all over her arms. I thought we could spare some to feed her kids?"

No lie, Changmin's immensely impressed. There's a good deed done without any selfish charity case following them around for more pity. Here's a sneaky way of having both parties win.

"You must be a genius," Changmin declares. He tugs at their intertwined hands. "The ninja sort that only pretends to be a dumb and clumsy and messy and as ridiculous as you _always_ are."

The insults bounce off the sheer force of Yunho's smug grin. "I am," he says at length, "a _good person_." He presses a kiss into Changmin's hair before he can pull away. "If you ask nicely, I will teach you how to be one too."

"I am already a good person," Changmin gripes. He pushes Yunho into a passing lamp post when Yunho snorts at him. "Hey no, really, I am, fuck you."

Yunho's grimace of pain melts into a sneer. Suddenly he is up in Changmin's space, close enough to breathe in. Eyes wide, Changmin tries to step back but he's pinned down by the hand at the small of his back, and the dark streak in Yunho's smirk.

"If you’re such a good person," Yunho pushes closer, "then don't you think you deserve a reward?"

There is a hum of agreement above him – the voice is distinctly _not_ Changmin. They spring apart, heads snapping towards the stranger. An old man grins down at him, the woman at his elbow, and children at hers.

* * *

There's a town to the left of Seoul that requires exactly half a tank of gas to reach. Their guides, well, guide them, show them the gaps in that barrier of debris and wreck that blocks off almost every path leading into the city – it would appear that Yunho's kindness has allowed them in on this secret safe haven. Changmin spends eight tanks going back and forth before deciding _fuck it, we're staying_.

The people here have given up on the future, or they no longer care about the past and are mostly too caught up with the present. It's a community that works like easy clockwork, and they find themselves fitting right in. While the community is tight knit and hostile to outsiders, Changmin's medical knowledge turns out to be indispensable. The old man is their one qualified doctor but he's retired years ago, his hands shaking too much for delicate actions such as surgery. Changmin helps the doctor, and exploits his post-world knowledge of short cut solutions, slowly gaining his own skills. Yunho babysits their girls and all the other neighbourhood kids at the same time. 

They are needed, so they stay. Life is irrevocably changed but unnervingly similar; it is gratifying and awful and inexplicable by turns. Yunho and Changmin have a small ground floor apartment to themselves, with working pipes (ten gallons a day) and running electricity (after sunset). Yunho leaves it every morning at six, to patrol the borders or looks after children whose parents are out on scavenging trips. Changmin leaves whenever someone is hurt, or crippled, or dying. Both of them have to fetch their share of meat – wild life, stray animals – and Changmin's already good at dissecting animals so he leaves their slaughter to Yunho. It unsettles him, the last squeals of life and hot blood on his hands, but Changmin sees this often with humans, so he learns to deal. They both do.

This isn't exactly what they'd aimed for – there are still no answers and the people from their pasts, their families, remain ghosts unable to move on – but for now it is an equilibrium that they can deal with. Time no longer crumples in spurts of desperation and long stretches of tedious suffering; it settles into a steady day by day rhythm. They have work. They have use. They keep moving forward.

One day Changmin comes home, takes off his shoes, looks up, and finds Yunho staring at him from the couch. He gives a little wave, exhausted, and shuffles into the kitchen to scrub the lingering stench of blood and vomit off his hands. His patient today is going to live, so Changmin can't bring himself to care. When he returns to the living room, Yunho resumes staring at him.

"Hello," he says, padding over. Yunho returns it softly, and tilts his head up, beckoning. 

"Lazy," Changmin grumbles with a roll of his eyes. He leans over the rest of the way for a kiss. "Where are the brats?"

"Sleeping," Yunho replies. He tugs at Changmin's arm until the man topples against his side. "One of the wives gave birth today, and I brought the rest of her kids over and out of her way and they’ve been playing the whole day so they retired early and I think I am happier than I have any right to be."

It comes out in a rush and ends with a hint of awe, like Yunho had only wanted to say that last bit but couldn't find any other way to bring it up. Changmin rests his chin on Yunho's chest and watches him quietly.

"…You always did like kids," he concludes, missing the point on purpose. 

Yunho scrunches his face up and pinches Changmin's side.

"Changmin," he starts, disapprovingly. Then he changes his mind and smiles instead. "Thank you, for saving me."

Overwhelming; Changmin fidgets, headbutts the hand that has started carding through his hair. He mumbles, "It was nothing – "

"It was _everything_."

"It was nothing," Changmin repeats carefully, "that you haven't done for me."

For a moment, Yunho looks down at Changmin with his eyes rounded in surprise. It melts into a small, soft smile. "Of course," he sighs dramatically, "of course, you're right, as usual."

With a laugh, Changmin shuffles up the last few inches to press his grin into Yunho's neck. For the first time in a long while, he feels full, satisfied.


End file.
